


Come and Meet Me On the Other Side

by StrangerInAStrangePlace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: The First Avenger, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Steve Could Probably Use One Too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 03:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8041279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangePlace/pseuds/StrangerInAStrangePlace
Summary: "Bucky’s standing in front of him hurt and exhausted (and maybe a little bit broken) - God, Bucky is standing in front of him, alive despite the odds and all the shit they put him through."





	Come and Meet Me On the Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Zola in CA:TFA is my poison of choice, so it seems inevitable that I'd write some of my own at some point. This was meant to be a part of a larger three-part piece, but it grew to a point where it no longer fit the narrative for that one, so I decided to let it run free. I was aiming for porn with feelings. Instead, it's just feelings. There's always next time.
> 
> Title borrowed from "Psycho-Babble" by Matt Duke, which is a great song, if you're into that kind of thing.

They manage to make it several miles from the ruined HYDRA factory before Bucky’s strength starts to fail.  
  
Steve’s been watching him closely since they set out on their march from Austria. They hadn’t had time after their escape for more than a quick I’m-glad-we’re-not-dead embrace and a cursory check from Steve, running his hands over Bucky’s arms, chest, torso, looking for any injuries hidden under his ruined uniform. He’d marveled at the feel of his hands on Bucky’s body, the way he could touch so much more of him than before, when his hands were frail and half the size. Bucky had protested that he was fine, stepping back and rolling his shoulders back so that Steve heard a pop. He’d been steady on his feet as they rejoined the survivors, accepting a rifle readily and planting himself next to Steve just like he always had.  
  
Now, though, Steve can see that he’s starting to flag. His once-steady pace has slowed, become uneven, and twice now he’s nearly tripped over his own feet, managing to keep himself upright at the last minute. Both times, he would mutter a curse and push himself forward until he was next to Steve again.  
  
Bucky’s started to fall behind again when Dugan approaches from the other side. “Nice weather we’re having, eh Cap?”  
  
Steve gives him an incredulous look and Dugan laughs. “You’re right, enough with the formalities. Whattya reckon we take a breather?”  
  
“Here?” Steve looks around; they’re smack-dab in the middle of the goddamn wilderness.  
  
“Good a place as any.” Dugan shrugs. “Got some boys who need some medical attention before we push on.” Lower, almost so Steve can’t hear him, “And your boys Barnes over there is practically dead on his feet, not that he’s likely to admit it to anyone.”  
  
“Not if his life depended on it.” Steve hesitates, glancing back at the troops following behind him. “I was thinking we might want to get a little further away first. Might be safer if we put a little more distance behind us before we stopped.”  
  
“I’ll tell you what, Cap, we keep going much longer and I don’t think you’re gonna have much choice about stopping either way.” He shrugs. “Nowhere we’re gonna be safe out anyway. Let them rest. Get your pain-in-the-ass friend off his feet before he does himself some real damage.”  
  
Bucky chooses that moment to stumble into the back of Steve’s broad shoulders, reeling back and nearly face-planting into the dirt before Steve and Dugan catch him by the arms and haul him back up. He pushes off with a mumbled apology; Dugan gives Steve a knowing look and Steve nods back.  
  
Dugan whistles between his teeth and Steve raises a hand to call their makeshift company to a halt, ordering a half-hour rest to treat the wounded among them and gather their strength. He still feels a thrill of disbelief watching the tanks grind to a halt, the way everyone stops their march at his command. Real authority is an alien feeling; Bucky had spent years teasing him for the way he always wanted to boss him around, but for the first time, people are actually listening to his orders. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to get used to it.  
  
Bucky’s digging the heel of his palm into his eye, and Steve touches his elbow to guide him to the nearest tank. “Whatcha doin’, Stevie?” he mumbles, though he goes willingly enough.  
  
“Thought you could use a ride,” Steve replies, keeping his voice easy.  
  
“You hitchin’ me a cab, moneybags? Swell, I was tired of all this walking anyway.”  
  
“I’m gonna do you one better.” Steve nods up at the tank; Bucky follows his look, and his face hardens as he lets out a flat, “No.”  
  
“Buck, c’mon.”  
  
“C’mon nothing, Rogers, I’m fine.”  
  
“You’d be eating mud if I hadn’t pulled you up in time.”  
  
“Ain’t my fault your big stupid shoulders got in my way. Maybe you should watch where you’re going next time.”  
  
“My shoulders are fine, you’re the one who can’t seem to remember how his feet work.” Steve gestures to the tank again. “Bucky, seriously. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this. You can ride on the back if you want.”  
  
“Oh, what, so everyone can see that I’m too goddamned weak to stay on my own two feet? You crazy?”  
  
“Then ride inside.”  
  
For a second, Bucky looks like he’s actually considering it, but he shakes his head and glares at Steve. “No. There’s no way I can get in there, not -” He cuts himself off and clenches his jaw. His eyes are suddenly very far away.  
  
“Hey. Bucky, hey.” Steve puts a hand on his arm; Bucky glances down at it and back up at Steve like it’s not actually connected to him. “Look, no one’s saying you’re weak, okay? Especially not me. Hell, I can’t believe you’re still on your feet at all after that they - what they did to you.” Steve falters a little bit and Bucky looks away past his shoulder. He steps in closer so they won’t be overheard. “Look, if you keep pushing yourself the way you're doing, you’re going to kill yourself. I’m probably about to get court-martialed for this, and I’m not saying I wouldn’t do it all over again, because I would. But I also didn’t sneak into enemy territory and blow up a factory just to watch you drop dead because you’re too damn stubborn to sit down.”  
  
He’s not winning any points for sensitivity, but Steve thinks he makes a good case, all things considered. Bucky, though, still looks like he’s ready to argue, so Steve cuts him off at the pass. “Look, either you get on the damn tank or I put you over my shoulder and carry you back to base.”  
  
“You wouldn’t,” Bucky says, sounding unsure.  
  
“You bet I would.” Steve leans in. “And you know I can now.”  
  
Bucky gives him an almost comical look of betrayal.  
  
Dugan’s been hovering nearby this whole time, pretending not to eavesdrop, but now he clears his throat ostentatiously. “Hell, kid, you’re not gonna take advantage of a free ride, I certainly will.” He hauls himself up the side.  
  
“You’re not actually getting on that thing.” Bucky sounds deeply unimpressed.  
  
“’Course I am. I got a bunion on my left foot that could give your big head a run for its money.”  
  
“The hell you do.”  
  
“The hell I _don’t_. You keep sassing me, I’m gonna take off my boot and make you rub it for me. On the other hand -” he brandishes a slightly crumpled carton of cigarettes, “I stole a pack of smokes off a dead guy, and I’m in a sharing mood. Whaddya say?”  
  
It’s a ploy, and it’s obvious, and they both know it, but Bucky’s always been better than Steve at knowing when he’s been beat. Still, he glares at Steve and tells him, “I’m walking into camp with you. That’s the deal. I’m not showing up on the back of a tank like a goddamn invalid; when we get back, I want to be on my feet.”  
  
“Deal,” Steve agrees readily, and Bucky adds, “And I’m keeping the gun.”  
  
Steve shrugs. “Fine. You’re probably a better shot than me anyway.”  
  
“Damn right I am,” Bucky mutters, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and hoisting himself up.  
  
\+ + +  
  
Steve may have won the round with the tank, but he’s known Bucky long enough to know that with him, victory doesn’t come cheap - a fact he’s reminded of back at camp, when Bucky picks another fight with him because he’s too busy being a stupid, stubborn jerk to actually listen to reason.  
  
They’ve been standing outside the medical tent for at least ten minutes now, Steve insisting that Bucky get checked up by one of the doctors despite his protests (oh, and protests, there are plenty).  
  
“I just got done being a lab rat, Steve, I’m not really in the mood to do it again." Bucky’s arms are crossed over his chest and he glowers at Steve, which would be a lot more threatening if he wasn’t leaning on the tent pole for support like he’s hoping Steve won’t notice.  
  
“You’re not going to be a lab rat, Bucky. It’s a check-up, they just want to make sure you’re okay.”  
  
“’M fine. Walked all the way here, didn’t I?”  
  
“No you didn’t,” Steve points out, even though it’s a low blow and he knows it. It’s petty, and a little mean, but sometimes fighting dirty is the only way he can actually win. He feels a little bad about it, he does, but not enough to back down. “I’m not arguing about this, Buck. You were in pretty bad shape when I found you.” Bucky looks away, pretending he can’t hear, so Steve switches tactics. “Well, I’m not leaving until you do.”  
  
Bucky turns back to him. “Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”  
  
“Yep. Pretty important one too, with Colonel Phillips. Have you met Phillips yet? He’s a grouchy bastard.  Guess it’s gonna have to wait, though. It’s just the army, I’m sure they won’t mind.” Steve plants his feet, crosses his arms, and matches Bucky’s glare. For several moments neither moves.  
  
Bucky’s the first to break, rolling his eyes and uncrossing his arms. “You’re a real pain in my ass, Rogers.”  
  
“I know,” Steve says cheerfully. “Try not to scare the nurses too much.”  
  
“Yeah.” At the entrance, Bucky hesitates again.  
  
“Do you want me to go with you?” Steve asks, softening.  
  
“No,” Bucky replies like whiplash. “I can manage on my own, Stevie. You don’t have to hold my hand.”  
  
“Okay, okay.” Steve raises his own hands in surrender. “Get yourself taken care of. I’ll come find you after.”  
  
“Always do,” Bucky murmurs before ducking into the tent. Steve’s not sure he was meant to hear it, and so he doesn’t reply.  
  
\+ + +  
  
Steve’s meeting with Colonel Phillips is relatively short, though it carries the promise of a full debriefing once they arrive in London the following day. Still, it leaves Steve feeling tense and irritable, wound tight like the strings of an out-of-tune piano. There’s still no mention of any disciplinary action, which Steve ought to be grateful for, but right now he’s having trouble feeling anything beyond just tired; the action of the past few days is slowly starting to catch up to him, and Phillips’ typically brusque attitude isn’t doing anything to help.  
  
( _“I’m more concerned with the intelligence you can bring me at this point, Captain Rogers.”_  
  
_Steve set his jaw. “With all due respect, sir, this was meant to be a rescue mission.”_  
  
_“Don’t get cute with me, son. Your mission wasn’t a mission in any official sense, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t bring us back anything useful.”_  
  
_“I just think the priority should be on the men who returned, sir. A lot of them were in bad shape when we found them.”_  
  
_“And they’re all in medical, right where they should be. What exactly would you like me to do for them from here,_ Captain _?” He put just enough sarcasm into that last word to set Steve’s teeth on edge._ )  
  
All Steve wants to do after he’s dismissed is find Bucky and make sure he’s doing okay. (Really, Steve wants to take him by the hand and drag him back to their dump of an apartment where they can hide from the army and the war and a world full of mad scientists and monsters, but right now he’ll settle for just seeing him again with his own eyes and reminding himself that his best friend is still alive and in one piece.)  
  
Which, of course, means that Bucky is nowhere to be found.  
  
Steve returns to the medical tent first, where he’s informed by one of the nurses that Bucky has already come and gone.  
  
“He was in pretty good shape, all things considered,” she says, to Steve’s disbelief. “Dehydrated, of course, and a bit malnourished, but then, that seems to be the case with most of these men.” She sweeps an arm back to indicate the full tent.  
  
“What about his…injuries?” Bucky had barely been able to stand on his own when Steve had unstrapped him. “Shouldn't he be…lying down? Somewhere?”  
  
“There were no injuries,” the nurse says, sounding a little confused. “Nothing more serious than some cuts and bruises. He was pretty lucky, actually.”  
  
The image comes, unbidden, of Bucky strapped down tightly to the metal table, delirious and slurring out his serial number. Bucky staggering next to him through the woods, or marching into camp with a look of grim determination. Bucky pushing away Steve’s searching hands, hunching into himself when Steve came too close.  
  
_Lucky_. Steve feels a muscle in his jaw tic. The nurse must mistake the expression on his face for worry, because she puts her hand on his upper arm.  
  
“Honestly, Captain Rogers, a good night’s sleep and a few square meals and he’ll be good as new.” She rubs his arm in a way that’s probably meant to be comforting, but she holds on just a bit too long, her grip tightening ever so slightly as her eyes flick down to his chest and back up. Steve pulls away and asks if she has any idea where he went. She doesn’t, but suggests the mess tent, looking disappointed. He thanks her as politely as he can manage and beats a hasty retreat.  
  
“A few square meals,” he mutters as his boots squelch through the mud. “How’s a guy supposed to get even _one_ square meal in this pit -”  
  
“Captain Rogers.”  
  
Steve starts at the sound of Peggy Carter calling to him, reddening at the thought that she had probably heard him talking to himself. Still, she’s a welcome sight, coming towards him with that purposeful take-no-shit stride that he admires so much.  
  
“Agent Carter,” he says by way of greeting as she approaches.  
  
“Been to see Colonel Phillips already, I take it?”  
  
“Yeah. I don’t think I’m his favorite person right now.”  
  
“Well, he does hate to be upstaged.”  
  
“I can’t help it, I’m a showgirl. Comes with the territory.” Successfully rescuing several hundred men and blowing up an enemy target takes the usual bite out of the words. Peggy smiles at him.  
  
“You found your friend, then?”  
  
“I did. Alive. Like I said.”  
  
“I’m so glad. How is he?”  
  
“He’s…okay.” Steve hesitates. “He was tortured. By Schmidt’s men. I don’t know for how long.”  
  
“Yes, I’d heard.” Peggy touches his elbow gently. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Thanks.” Steve can’t meet her eyes and stares instead at her fingers resting on the leather sleeve of his jacket, there for his benefit rather than her own.  
  
“Are you alright?” she asks after a moment. Steve looks at her sharply.  
  
“Me? I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be? Ask the guys who were held prisoner for months. I don’t have a scratch.” It’s a more generous hand than he’s ever been dealt, more than he deserves, and Steve ducks his head because for one terrible moment he feels like he’s about to burst into tears, right there in front of God and country and Agent Peggy Carter of the SSR.  
  
If Peggy notices, she doesn’t say anything, but she keeps her hand on his arms and gives him time to collect himself. When he finally takes a breath and looks at her again, she gives him a small but encouraging smile, entirely free of pity. Steve’s not sure why he’s surprised; Peggy’s never shown him an ounce of pity since the day they met. It’s one of the many reasons he likes her.  
  
“Phillips will want to speak with him, too,” she says after a minute, sounding regretful. Steve sighs.  
  
“I know. I mean, I figured. I’m surprised they haven’t dragged him in there already.”  
  
“Well, you have a little time, I think.” Peggy’s smile turns into a bit of a smirk. “I told Phillips that Sergeant Barnes is in no state to be interrogated right now, due to exhaustion. Trying to get any useful information out of him would just be a waste of time tonight. He agreed to hold off until we arrive in London, though he didn’t seem particularly happy about it.”  
  
“Wait, so you did see him? Where? I’ve been looking all over.”  
  
“No, not since you first returned, I’m afraid.” Peggy gives him an apologetic shrug. “I wasn’t being entirely truthful. I just thought your friend could use a bit of rest before being subjected to Colonel Phillips and his charms.”  
  
“Peggy, thank you, that’s so…” Steve grasps for the right word and settles on, “Dishonest.” Peggy, to her credit, only laughs, sounding delighted at the description, and Steve manages a smile before adding, “I don’t think Bucky’ll be too happy to hear you talking about him like that.”  
  
“Well. I won’t tell if you don’t.” There’s mischief hidden beneath her no-nonsense tone, and it makes Steve’s smile soften into something more genuine.  
  
“I think you’d like him,” he tells her. “You two have a lot in common.”  
  
“Hopefully that’s a good thing,” she says, teasing. “I look forward to meeting him.”  
  
Steve huffs. “I just have to find him first.”  
  
“You found him once. I’m sure you can find him again.” She squeezes his hand briefly before turning away, giving him one last smile over her shoulder as she picks her way through the mud.  
  
That Agent Carter. She’s one hell of a dame.  
  
\+ + +  
  
Steve finally tracks Bucky down right outside his own tent near the stage, chatting up Alice and May from the chorus. His hair is wet and the clothes he’s wearing are at least a size too big, but he’s smiling down at the girls with his usual charm, and they seem to be drinking it up as he raises a cigarette to his lips.  
  
Bucky sees Steve approaching before they do, and they jump slightly when he raises a hand in greeting like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Bucky grins at him, and Steve catches the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  
  
“Where ya been, Stevie? I’ve been lookin’ all over for you.”  The girls giggle at “Stevie” and look away when Steve glances at them.  
  
“Whaddya mean where have I been, where have you been?” Steve’s the one who’s been stomping up and down the base looking for signs of his wayward best friend, who was _supposed_ to be taking care of himself instead of chatting up the first pretty girls he happened to come across.  
  
“Been waitin’ for you,” Bucky says. “These gals have been keeping me company ‘til you came back. You know Alice and May, right?”  
  
“’Course I know them, I’ve been traveling with them for months.” Belatedly, Steve remembers his manners, and he nods at them. “Ladies.”  
  
“Don’t seem fair, me crawling through the mud all this time while you’re traveling the world with a couple beautiful girls like this.” Bucky winks at them; Steve tries not to roll his eyes.  
  
“Steve’s been a perfect gentleman,” Alice insists.  
  
“I’m sure he has.” Bucky smirks at him and takes another drag off the cigarette. The girls giggle again.  
  
“Your friend here is trouble,” May says, with stars in her eyes.  
  
“You don’t know the half of it,” Steve agrees. “He finish telling you about all the times he almost got us kicked out of school growing up?”  
  
“Your fault, every single one of ‘em.” Bucky gives him that tired grin again. “You were the troublemaker, Stevie. I was pure as the driven snow before I met you.”  
  
“Like hell.” Steve blushes as he glances down at Alice and May. “Excuse me.”  
  
“Not at all,” May says, sounding delighted.  
  
“I feel like we’re seeing a whole new side of you,” Alice adds.  
  
Bucky smirks at him again, but the lines around his eyes are becoming more pronounced, the weariness in his face more prominent. He can put on a good show, but Steve can tell he’s barely holding himself up. Time to pack it in. “Ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt, but -”  
  
“No, no, we should be going,” May interrupts, as she grabs Alice by the hand and starts to pull her away. “It’s almost dark. Goodnight Sergeant. Captain.” Steve can hear them laughing together as he and Bucky watch them go.  
  
“Nice girls,” Bucky says.  
  
“Yeah, they certainly took a shine to you.” Steve gives him a sidelong glance.  
  
“What can I say, Rogers? I’m all charm.” Bucky starts to take another drag from the cigarette and then stops himself, looking guiltily at Steve. Steve just raises an eyebrow in return and Bucky huffs out what could be a laugh. “Guess it don’t matter if I smoke these in front of you anymore, does it?”  
  
“Asthma or not, you’re not bringing that into my tent. Finish it out here.”  
  
“Square,” Bucky jokes. He takes a pull all the way down to his knuckles, hold it in his lungs, and breathes it out slowly before dropping the butt on the ground and stomping it out with the heel of his boot. Satisfied, Steve makes his way into the tent, trusting Bucky to follow.  
  
“Looks like you got a shower,” Steve comments, gesturing to his hair. Bucky snorts.  
  
“Yeah, cold water and no soap, but hey, it’s better than nothing.” He pulls at the jacket hanging loosely on his frame. “Got some new clothes, too. Don’t fit all that great, but they also don’t smell like someone died in them, so…”  
  
Bucky trails off, looking around the tent. There isn’t much: a cot in the corner, a chair next to a couple of crates with one of Steve’s notebooks laying on top. Bucky’s eyes flit from one corner to another, occasionally darting towards Steve and then sliding away like he can’t hold his gaze steady when it’s directed at him. He’s not saying anything now, and Steve feels some of the tension creeping back into the space behind his eyes.  
  
“You keep looking at me like that.”  
  
Bucky looks surprised. “Like what?”  
  
“Like you’re not sure I’m me.”  
  
Bucky shrugs. “’Cause I ain’t, I guess.”  
  
Steve bristles at that, because Bucky’s his best friend, and the one person in all of this that he would have expected to see past the muscles and the dopey costume. He knows he’s changed - God, nobody knows that more than he does - but he’s hung onto the notion that Bucky would still see him as himself and not as Captain America. And he knows Bucky wasn’t happy with him taking the risks - Steve had already gotten an earful about it on their way back - but he had hoped Bucky would understand why he’d taken them. There are only a few people now who remember Steve before Erskine’s serum, and even with all the changes it had wrought on his body, Bucky was supposed to be able to see the same guy on the inside. His guy. But now, Bucky’s looking at him the same as everyone else, and Steve can’t help it, but it makes him angry, because it hurts. This was his choice to make, and no one - not even one James Buchanan Barnes - gets to take it away from him.  
  
Bucky must catch the thunderous expression on his face, because he huffs a small laugh. “You look like you’re itchin’ for a fight, pal, but I don’t think I have it in me tonight.”  
  
And that takes the wind right out of his sails, it really does. He’s been running on a cocktail of anger, adrenaline, and fear for the last several days, and he’s still working it out of his system. Bucky had always been his outlet when he’d gotten himself all twisted up into knots like this, only now Bucky’s standing in front of him hurt and exhausted (and maybe a little bit broken) - God, Bucky is standing in front of him, _alive_ despite the odds and all the shit they put him through. And all Steve wants to do is pick a fight? He feels like a goddamn heel.  
  
“Sorry, Buck,” he says, deflating. He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “Guess I don’t have my head on straight.”  
  
“Least that hasn’t changed.” Bucky snorts. “Can’t be any worse than mine, right? We’re a matched set. How’re your lungs?”  
  
“My lungs?” Steve frowns. “Lungs are fine, Buck, I already told you. They fixed ‘em.”  
  
“Fixed ‘em.” Bucky lays a hand on Steve’s chest; Steve can feel like heart hammering away beneath his touch, steady and strong. Bucky’s eyes are wide as he feels it beat. “It’s a goddamn miracle, Stevie.”  
  
“Thought you didn’t believe in miracles,” Steve teases, though his voice is soft.  
  
“That’s ‘cause I’ve never seen one for myself before.”  
  
Bucky’s hand is still on his chest; the other curls around Steve’s hip, almost tentatively, shy in a way that Steve knows neither one of them is, not with each other. It’s as if he’s asking for permission to touch, and Steve steps in even closer, granting it.  
  
“Not even sure you’re real right now,” Bucky murmurs, closing his eyes against Steve’s worried gaze. “Not sure anything’s real. I passed out on that table screaming like my life depended on it. Come to and everyone’s gone, and there you are like some kind of knight in goddamn armor. Just feels a little too good to be true, you know?” His voice catches a little and he turns his head away. “We never had that kind of luck before.”  
  
Steve reaches out, even though he knows he shouldn’t when only a thin layer of canvas separates the from the prying eyes of the United States Army. He reaches out anyway, laying a palm on Bucky’s cheek, running his thumb along his jaw. Slowly, he tilts his head up until  their lips meet. It’s the first kiss they’ve shared since Brooklyn.  
  
“We’re real,” Steve says softly, bringing his hand back to cradle Bucky’s head against his chest and sliding his other arm around his shoulder to draw him closer. A single sob hitches in Bucky’s throat. “We’re real,” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We’re real.”  
  
Bucky pulls back just far enough to kiss him again, a little more desperate this time, an urgency to the way he presses his mouth to Steve’s. For a brief and merciful moment the world recedes, HYDRA and the war fading into the background. The stubble on Bucky’s face rasps against Steve’s cheek, making him moan softly into his mouth. He feels Bucky’s tongue push against his lips and he sucks it in greedily, moaning again when he licks the back of his teeth. Steve bites down just hard enough to make him gasp, but then Bucky’s eyes snap open and he pulls back again as the world comes rushing in around them.  
  
“Steve, we can’t. Not here, there’s too many people, anyone could just…” He trails off, but there’s real fear in his eyes. “You don’t understand, it’s not like it’s a couple of guys giving each other a hand job in the mud to take the edge off. They catch us kissing like that, you don’t know what they’d do.”  
  
He’s right, and Steve know he’s right. Still, he can’t help the flash of disappoint that flickers through his brain like static, that petulant little voice in his head saying, “It isn’t fair.”  
  
It must show on his face, because Bucky laughs again, though it sounds tired. “You know how I know you’re still you, Rogers? You still get that same stupid pout when you don’t get your way.”  
  
“I don’t pout,” Steve says, in a tone of voice that ought to be accompanied by a foot stomp.  
  
“The hell you don’t. You got just about the worst poker face I ever saw.” Bucky yawns, deep enough to crack his jaw. “Probably just as well. Don’t think I’d be much good to you tonight, the state I’m in.  He grins, briefly, but it slips and he ducks his head, looking embarrassed. All Steve wants to do is take him back into his arms and tell everyone else they can take their opinions straight to hell. Instead, he shrugs.  
  
“Wouldn’t want to anyway, the way you stink right now.”  
  
Bucky barks out a surprised laugh. “I don’t smell any worse than you, pal.”  
  
“That’s a damn lie. C’mere.”  
  
Bucky sways slightly on his feet when he steps back into his space. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna kiss you again,” Steve says as he pulls off Bucky’s jacket and lays it over the back of the chair. Bucky starts when Steve unbuckles his belt and pulls it free.  
  
“Thought you weren’t trying to get into my pants tonight, Stevie," he says, weariness slurring his words around the edges.  
  
“Shut up,” Steve says agreeably. “Think you can manage to get your shoes off, smart guy?”  
  
He makes quick work of the buttons on his shirt, divesting it along with the pants, both of which join the jack he’s laid aside. Stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, Steve tugs Bucky over to the cot and eases his down.  
  
“I can’t stay here, Steve,” he mutters, even as he’s letting Steve pull the blanket over him.  
  
“Sure you can.”  
  
“What would the neighbors think?”  
  
“They’d think that Captain America is a pretty swell guy for sharing his own private tent with his poor, hurt best friend.” He grins at Bucky’s scowl. “What a gentleman, making sure his best buddy is okay. Taking care of him and freeing up space in the med tent for the guys who really need it.”  
  
“My hero.” Bucky snorts. “There’ll still be talk. You better hunt down another cot or something, make your sob story a little more convincing.”  
  
“Yeah, Buck, I’ll do it.” Steve pushes the hair off Bucky’s forehead. “Just get some rest, okay? You’re safe here.”  
  
“Safe.” For a moment Bucky looks like he doesn’t recognize the words, but then the moment passes, and his eyes finally close.  
  
It isn’t a restful sleep, Bucky’s forehead creased in a frown long after he’s drifted off. Steve sits on the ground next to him, carding his fingers through his hair every time his breath hitches.  
  
“God, Buck, what did they do to you?” he whispers.  
  
\+ + +  
  
He stays there all night.  
  
He never does go find an extra cot. The neighbors are probably going to talk. Steve doesn’t really give a damn either way.


End file.
